I
The therapist is nondescript. She sits in front of Lily, nondescript brown hair hanging limply around her nondescript eyes and cheeks. The ambivalent half-whisper that emerges from her exceedingly ordinary lips is monotone. Her figure is thoroughly average, as are her dress and shoes. The pad of paper in her hands is appropriately stock, and the handwriting upon it is perfectly indistinguishable from that of every other person in the universe.
They hate me up here…I know that. She’s the only woman on board and I’m fucking her. Of course, they hate me. They pretend it’s because of our lack of professionalism, but I know it’s jealousy. We tried to be discreet at first, but you try keeping secrets from three other people in a floating tin can.
I’m an author with a distinct tastes in books. I’ve tried to read things like Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, and Lord of the Flies. But I couldn’t. They didn’t catch my attention, they didn’t hold my attention, and I didn’t enjoy them. That’s not to say that they’re not great books, I just didn’t like them.
Continue reading Fifty Shades of Shame by Guest Blogger @MonicaMarieV
